listen while you read: winter song
Ernest Hemingway said to write clear and hard about what hurts. Here's what hurts: nostalgia. It hits hardest in the winter, when trees are bare and the sunshine is weak and the long nights just mean more time to reminisce. These photos are from Germany this past summer, ones that never made it to the blog but are cherished none the less. They are taken in Telgte, the little town where my grandparents live and where my mom grew up. The streets are cobblestoned and the church chimes every hour; the bicycles are many and so are the cafes. A five minute bicycle ride one direction takes you into the clean, sweet-smelling fields and a five minute bicycle ride in the other direction takes you into the village square and the best ice cream in the world, churned in the tiny kitchen in the back of the shop.
Here's the thing about traveling: once you get a taste of what the world can be like, you're never satisfied by staying in one place ever again. You leave little pieces of you in every city you visit, every plane and train and bus you climb in, every person you meet, and saying goodbye never gets easier. But for every piece you leave, you gain another until you're a hodgepodge of places you've been and things you've seen. I guess that's why my thirst for travel can never be satiated.